


Paid in Full

by Bullfinch



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dominance, Elves, Fisting, M/M, Oral Sex, Orcs, Public Sex, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullfinch/pseuds/Bullfinch
Summary: Rumor has it there’s an orc tavernkeeper up in the mountains who’s got the best hole on the continent—but there’s a catch: he only offers it to those who hunt the dangerous beasts that stalk the rugged peaks. A traveling elven mage decides to find out just how true those rumors are.
Relationships: Original Elf Character(s)/Original Orc Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67





	Paid in Full

**Author's Note:**

> When you can’t find any smut about Big Meaty Man Holes sometimes you just gotta write it yourself
> 
> EDIT: Check out [some lovely art of Alvë and Genn!](https://twitter.com/SevereniNaughty/status/1303397807135567875?s=20)

The tavern is nearly full when Alvë walks in, but it doesn’t matter much because he’s not here to sit down and have a drink.

Most of them are orcs, and despite the winter outside there’s still the smell of musky sweat in the air from the hearth-fire roaring at the rear wall, and a fire-pit off to the left with a whole pig roasting atop it. Alvë has traveled enough to have some familiarity with it—elven sweat doesn’t have the same animalistic scent, trending more toward the earthy peat of the bogs and fens, but he does not wrinkle his nose. A few of the patrons look up at his approach, and their gazes linger. Not out of rudeness. (This place is far from the temperate forests, surrounded rather by miles and miles of dense firs broken by rocky, unforgiving cliffs; and the nearest settlements are all orcish strongholds, here and there a gnoll stead or a giant’s cave. But he’s hardly the first elf to take up the life of an adventurer.)

He swings the door shut and shakes the snow from his cloak. Some of the orcs have mods—the traditional things, horns or red eyes, or twice as many tusks as they should have. Good for intimidating people, though no one’s trying to intimidate him. This tavern is a place of business, and any animosity that rises above the level of nettled insults is not tolerated. 

“Oi, is that him?” One orc elbows her friend. “Elf! Did you kill the manticore?”

The perfect introduction. Alvë reaches into his cloak and withdraws a cloth-wrapped object, making his way up to the bar. A couple of patrons shift aside to allow him space, revealing between them the orc bartender polishing a mug. He hasn’t looked up yet. Fine. Alvë knows he’s a hard man to impress. 

The stinger rolls from the unfurled cloth and lands on the bartop with a clatter. It’s obsidian-black and the size of a man’s head, and the patrons to Alvë’s left and right scramble away. The needle-sharp tip is still dripping with livid purple venom. The bartender pauses and lifts an eyebrow at it, then at Alvë. Alvë stares right back. A hard man to impress, but Alvë means to try, because Genn’s supposed to have the best cunt north of the Gliadinn Strait and he’ll only offer it to a warrior who’s earned his respect.

Genn lets out a grunt. “So it’s finally dead, eh?”

Alvë nods. “It is. The rest of the corpse is sitting at the base of a cliff a dozen furlongs east, if you don’t believe me. You’ll have to check before the rocs get it.”

Nobody knows why he’s got a cunt. He’s nearly seven feet high and built like an ox, so most say he modded it on. Alvë suspects differently. Most mods bought and sold these days are fairly cosmetic (he himself has a pair of blue-green tattoos on his cheeks that glow on his command). Anything more complicated gets dangerous. Alvë’s mentor spoke of a man who tried to make his cock twice as big and nearly died because he couldn’t piss out of it after. Modest gains in height, or the width of one’s shoulders—even those are much less risky, if done over time and with care. 

Genn looks him up and down. “Let me guess. Magic?”

Alvë, a bit abashed, lets out a chuckle. “What, you don’t think I could swing a sword?”

“You might.” Genn grins, showing off the blunted nubs of two small tusks. “But you’re not carrying one.” 

Well. Alvë nods in concession. “A fair point. The name’s Alvë, by the way.”

The forest here, and the rocky foothills just to the north, seem to attract monsters like no other place on the continent—and they attract adventurers too, for that very reason. Adventurers, being travelers by nature, are a gold mine of information, which is the tavern’s second most popular commodity after the ale. Still, even those who risk their lives for a living can be reluctant to take on some of the nastier denizens of the area, which is when Genn either takes care of them himself or puts up a bounty. There’s always a reward in coins, but the second, unspoken option is one of the things that keeps people coming back.

“So.” Genn puts the mug down. “You here to collect?”

“I am,” Alvë says, with care not to sound _too_ eager.

His cunt can’t be _that_ amazing (unless it really is modded—but it’s certainly not). Still, it doesn’t _need_ to be the best cunt in the North, because it’s been marketed with a businessman’s acumen. Genn doesn’t fuck anyone— _anyone—_ unless they’ve claimed a difficult bounty and he’s in the mood for it. He doesn’t have a spouse. He doesn’t take anyone home on a slow night. The only way to know what his cunt feels like (or his mouth, if that is one’s preference) is to fight a very nasty monster and live. 

Genn is still appraising him with golden eyes. Alvë tries to look relaxed and waits for the decision. He knows that—if it’s offered—taking the unspoken option will put him a couple of hundred coins short of where he could be. But he’ll make a good sum on this venom, and anyway, there’s a reason he came all the way up here. How many adventurers can say they’ve spilled a load inside of Genn Hregosh? It’s an exclusive club. 

“You want the three hundred coins?” Genn asks. “Or you want to fuck instead?”

He’s made the offer. Alvë had prayed for this moment many times, conjuring it whenever the motivation threatened to desert him during his long trek through arse-deep drifts of snow, shivering half to death in the backs of wagons when he could hire them or stumbling over ice-covered rocks when they’d go no further. All for this. He takes in a controlled breath to keep himself from appearing too keen and answers. “The latter, I think.”

That puts a smile on Genn’s face. No wonder; he’s just saved himself three hundred coins. Then he grasps the hem of his shirt and pulls it off over his head.

Alvë’s stomach, fluttering a second ago from visions of a close, sweaty candlelit tryst, immediately plummets into the floor. Fuck. He knew about this—sometimes Genn takes his partners right in the middle of the tavern, throws them down on a table and rides them or lays them over the bar and buries his face between their legs. And yet he never had the thought that it could happen to _him._ He chokes down the squawk of surprise that wants to burst from his throat as Genn comes around the bar, kicking off first one boot and then the other, pulling down his trousers. Some of the patrons whistle through their tusks, and there are shouts of glee at the show they’re about to see. 

“What’s wrong?” Genn straightens, naked in the firelight. His body is thick with fat and muscle from a healthy mixture of killing monsters and serving up untold pounds of sausages each day. Dense, dark curls of hair cover the gray-green skin over his chest and thighs. Between his legs, beneath the tangle of hair, the lips of his cunt are readily obvious, ample and dark pink with a grey blush. A small, thick phallus pokes out between them, perhaps the size of Alvë’s thumb, still hidden beneath its hood. 

Alvë makes certain that he won’t say anything foolish before he speaks. He knows how orcs tend to feel about any race smaller than them and refuses to give them the satisfaction of any perceived cowardice. “I hadn’t expected you’d want to do this quite so _soon.”_

“What, you mean in front of everyone?” Genn gestures at the tavern. There’s a roar of excitement and the thudding of mugs being slammed on tables. Of course they all want to see Genn open his legs for an adventurer. “You can take the money instead,” Genn says nonchalantly. “’S not too late.”

Alvë feels his ears getting hot. The roar isn’t dying down, and the patrons are stomping on the ground and shouting things like _“let’s see that hole”_ and _“suck the seed out of him, Genn,”_ which isn’t helping him think. But the truth is there’s no thinking to be done. He traveled to the arse-end of the continent and brought down a manticore alone for a reason. “I don’t think so,” he announces, working to make himself heard over the din. “This arrangement will be perfectly fine, thank you.”

Genn grins. “That’s the spirit, elf.” Then he hooks an arm beneath the nearest table and lifts it, nearly spilling the drinks of four orcs who hasten to snatch up their mugs. It’s a long table and solid and probably weighs as much as Alvë does, but Genn picks it up like it’s nothing more than a stray lamb and then tosses it up against the bar. Then he sits up on the edge of it, rests an elbow on the bar, and spreads himself with the other hand. “Well?” he says. “You coming or what?”

Alvë’s eyes are drawn to the junction of Genn’s thighs as if by the irresistible pull of gravity. Here, at last, the prize attained only by a rare few. The lips of his cunt are meaty, thick and rimmed in a deep grey, but within he’s a deep pink like an elf or a human. Between his fingers his opening glistens already with a trickle of wetness, and just inside it his ribbed walls bulge gently inwards. Alvë has a jolt of nerves about not being able to perform with everybody watching him, yet somehow the confusion and terror over the situation have translated into him being sort of half-hard in his trousers, which helps. The patrons are hooting and hollering, shouting for him to pull his cock out already. Alvë clears his throat and maintains his composure. “Before we get started, you must be aware that…well. I am not an orc,” he begins.

“I know, I know, you’re afraid your cock’s too small.” Genn waves a dismissive hand. “No one here expects you to have a prick as big as my arm. Come on.”

That was, in fact, exactly what Alvë was afraid of. Most of the orcs he’s met on the road haven’t been _cruel_ to him, but they’ve certainly had their fun at his expense. Genn’s reassurance helps somewhat, and Alvë advances, shedding his cloak and jacket, draping them over a bar stool. Is he really going to do this?

Genn seems somehow even bigger up close, and even with his arm relaxed and resting on the bar, the muscle there tautens his skin. The dense bed of hair on his chest is quite fine now that Alvë sees it, and he wants to touch but feels he should put up his end of the bargain first. 

He pulls his shirt off over his head and leaves it with the cloak. Gooseflesh prickles over his skin and calms a second later, warmed by the fire. A chorus of wolf-whistles go up from the crowd, and Alvë winces a bit. One of the women nearby hisses audibly to her friend, “Look at those little pink nipples!” which is a bit embarrassing, but Alvë refuses to let it get to him, because his nipples are perfectly average for an elf. 

Genn grunts. “Skinny, aren’t you? Got some nice hearty sausages in the back, you could use a few. Although.” Then, with a toothy grin, he leans forward and grabs Alvë around the waist, dragging him in. “I s’pose you’ve already got one.” 

His hand is calloused and warm and huge, encircling almost half Alvë’s waist. Alvë stumbles forward, grabbing Genn’s shoulder for balance. The muscle shifts minutely under his palm as Genn relaxes. Damn. The man may be a bartender most days but he’s well equipped to hunt down whatever bounties aren’t getting picked up. Genn takes a hold of Alvë’s other hand and lays it on his chest. “No need to be shy. Unless you’re losing your nerve.”

Alvë sets his jaw. “Not at all,” he says. The curls of hair on Genn’s chest almost cover his fingers, and he feels the solid _thud_ of Genn’s heartbeat, the even rise and fall of his breath. But he steps back, because he _knows_ Genn is challenging him and and he will not balk. 

The belt comes undone without difficulty, the tassels hanging loose and open. Then he undoes his trouser laces and opens them up, pulling his half-hard cock out of his smallclothes. Perfectly average for an elf, but standing here in front of an orc nearly seven feet high he can’t help feeling a tad bit inadequate. 

“That’s better,” Genn murmurs, and leans forward to coax him closer.

Alvë allows himself to be drawn in, but he tenses with a sharp intake of breath when Genn’s mouth locks onto his neck, sucking at the thin skin there. That mark will be _very_ difficult to hide tomorrow morning. It’s a good thing those tusks are blunted, although he feels the tips of them pressing into his throat. Genn’s grip slides lower, and he cups Alvë’s ass with the confidence of a man who’s done this plenty of times before—then pulls him in abruptly. 

Alvë stumbles a bit and plants a hand on each hairy thigh to balance himself, which leaves his cock free to mash against Genn’s waiting cunt. Alvë lets out a quiet noise of surprise. Doesn’t know what he was expecting—couldn’t have any real idea, in truth, because he’s never been with an orc. But the lips of Genn’s cunt are plush and soft and nearly envelop his cock. “There we go,” Genn murmurs. “Come on, elf, grind on me. Get both our pricks nice and hard.”

The damp heat steals Alvë's breath away, how Genn’s meaty folds cushion him like a warm embrace. Genn’s small, fat cock is starting to poke from its hood, and experimentally Alvë rolls his hips, his own cockhead dragging over Genn’s. He gets an approving nod for it, and a relaxation in Genn’s posture, his hips tilting a bit to give Alvë a better angle. 

The beginnings of what might have been intimacy are ruined by the very same orc woman who marveled at his nipples earlier, who hisses loudly to her friend, “Look at that big cunt! Ate up that elf’s prick like you sucked down that sausage earlier!” At that Alvë’s temper gets the better of him and he points a glare at her over his shoulder. She claps a hand over her mouth and leans back in her chair, settling down to watch. Good. The rest aren’t quiet, exactly, with shouts and whistles and guffaws popping up here and there. Well, he _did_ agree to do this in public, so the only person to blame here is himself.

He returns to the task at hand, rocking his hips once more, still exploring Genn’s cunt. Wetness gathers there, smearing over the underside of Alvë’s cock as he thrusts, lubricating his passage through the split in Genn’s ample folds. Hadn’t expected this, and it’s hard to tear his eyes away from how Genn’s puffy nethers almost swallow him up as he thrusts into them. Genn’s cock is hard now too, poking out from its hood. Alvë's cockhead nudges up against it as he grinds, the two of them sliding past each other. 

“Yeah, that’s it.” Genn reaches down and rubs himself. “Nice and hard, huh? You wanna stuff your cock in that hole?”

Not the most sophisticated bedroom talk Alvë’s heard—just the opposite, in fact. Still, they’re not in a bedroom, and anyway, it’s working. While rutting into the plush cushion of Genn’s cunt-lips feels like nothing he’s ever experienced, the goading makes the desire to sheathe himself inside Genn’s accommodating hole nearly overwhelming. Alvë takes in a shuddering breath, reining in his urges. 

Genn reaches up and rubs his chest, calloused thumb rubbing over Alvë’s bare skin. “What’s wrong? You nervous?”

Alvë looks up and meets Genn’s golden eyes, doing his best to express defiance. “I pull out my cock and grind on your bare cunt in front of dozens of strangers, and _now_ you ask if I’m nervous?”

Genn laughs at that, capturing one nipple between his fingers and giving it a firm tug, making Alvë gasp. “Seem to be taking it slow, is all. Or is it just you’ve never fucked a nice, big cunt like mine before?”

No harm in admitting it, Alvë thinks. “The latter,” he replies. “I haven’t spent much time up north.”

Genn shrugs. “Might be for the best. An orc could snap you in half if they’re not careful.”

“I’d be gentle with you!” the woman orc volunteers behind him.

Alvë sets his jaw. “I’m not as _fragile_ as you might think.”

“You’re not, huh? Then prove it,” Genn says, challenging Alvë with his golden gaze.

Alvë knows he’s being toyed with but refuses to lose face. He will _not_ simply give in; instead he rolls his hips, burying his cock inside the pink-grey lips of Genn’s cunt. He fucks into the meaty cuntflesh, grinding against the hot core within—can feel the give, where he’ll sheathe himself after he’s satisfied. There’s no telling if or when he’ll be with a orc again. Genn’s cuntlips conceal his shaft, and only his head emerges from the apex, Genn’s own stiff cock poking out right beside it. Amazing that such a hard man has something so soft and warm hidden between his legs. 

Then Alvë draws back, probing. Genn’s face is barely flushed, and Alvë has a mind to change that. He finds Genn’s entrance, his cockhead nudging at it. Maybe a bit of teasing will change the orc’s tune. 

But Alvë finds he has miscalculated, because Genn lifts and tilts his hips in one motion and Alvë finds himself sucked in all at once, sinking deep into the cavern of Genn’s roomy cunt.

Alvë bites his lip against a whine. Genn isn’t _tight,_ but his soft walls hug Alvë’s shaft, wrapping it in a warm embrace of slick, plush heat. For a split-second the sensation is overwhelming, and he stills, his fingers dimpling Genn’s thick thighs. Impossible. He’s not about to spill his seed after a single thrust like some virgin. Is he?

“Well?” Genn reaches around and grabs a couple of handfuls of Alvë’s ass. “Never had a cunt like this before, huh?”

Alvë lets out an unsteady breath, trying to regain his composure (and control over his too-sensitive cock). “As I said, I’ve never been with an orc.”

“There’s no orcs like me,” Genn says, and pulls Alvë in until the meaty lips of his cunt are squashed against Alvë’s groin. 

Alvë isn’t bottomed out—feels rather that Genn is the one who’s bottomed out on _him,_ having devoured the length of his shaft with eminent ease. He struggles to maintain the conversation, to hold on to some semblance of control. “Are you still trying—to _sell_ me on your cunt?” He cracks a grin. “You realize I’m already inside you?”

“Then _move,_ elf.” Genn growls, and squeezes his ass with such force he’s almost lifted off the ground. “That hole ain’t gonna fuck itself.” 

The way Genn manhandles him lights a fire in Alvë’s groin, and his hips buck, his cock squelching into Genn’s spacious cunt. It does not go unnoticed. “Oh, you like that, huh?” Genn murmurs, and squeezes again. 

His grip is that of a man who’s used to swinging swords and breaking up brawls between drunken orcs, and Alvë inhales, arching his back into Genn’s palms. That earns a chuckle and a lighthearted but forceful spank that makes Alvë start. “Come on, let’s see you work that hole,” Genn commands.

Alvë has one last paroxysm of fear, the humiliating anxiety of being watched by dozens of orcs who probably _could_ snap him in half without much effort. But it feels too good. The sucking heat of Genn’s cunt, the warrior’s hands mauling his ass, drive his arousal to heights that crash over the sea-wall of his uncertainty. He bends to Genn’s chest, hips pumping, and kisses his hairy skin. There’s little resistance as Genn’s walls part around his cock, and Alvë’s pace picks up. It’s a revelation, how easily Genn’s capacious hole takes him, how the slick velvet flesh slides over him as he fucks in and out. Even over the chatter of the tavern he can hear the wet sounds of their coupling, the rhythmic slapping of his hips. There’s a delighted giggle from behind him. “Look at him, fucks like a rabbit!”

Alvë can’t help it. Each plunge envelops him in a clinging heat that’s impossible to resist, especially with Genn’s grip urging him on. Alvë fucks into him without restraint and knows how it must look, his slim body humping into Genn’s hulking form. How desperate he must seem. Genn grunts above him. “Look at you. Really can’t wait to come in me, huh?”

Alvë swallows and brings his pace back under control. He’s mildly affronted by Genn’s calm in the face of his own fervor. “I earned this cunt,” he pants. “So I plan to make full use of my prize.” 

The groping of his ass grows so aggressive Alvë loses his footing, tipping forward such that his own weight propels him into Genn’s welcoming depths. “Hey, I’m all yours,” Genn says nonchalantly. “Well…”

Then his hands slide _into_ Alvë’s trousers and, with devastating accuracy, one broad finger presses into the sensitive spot just behind his balls. Alvë gasps and his hips jerk, his cock still seated inside Genn’s hole.

“Should do my part too.” Genn grins at him.

Something about the pressure is going straight to Alvë’s cock. His back arches, boots sliding out on the floor, and he grinds his hips into Genn’s, too aroused even to thrust. Instead Genn’s swollen folds are mashed against his pelvis, coating his skin with wetness. The soft, fleshy walls of Genn’s cunt smother his cock.

“Feels good, huh?” Genn says, massaging Alvë's taint, making his cock twitch in its lascivious embrace. Alvë bites his lip, stifling a noise of raw pleasure that rises from deep inside him. Without thinking he leans in, his mouth latching around one of Genn’s gray-black nipples. The nub is thick and fleshy, and Genn grunts in approval. Alvë nudges it with his tongue, lapping at it, rewarded with another generous squeeze of his ass. It still isn’t _fair_ how the heat of the coupling is driving him half crazy, making his hips buck and his cock almost unbearably sensitive, while Genn only goads him, his cunt seemingly unconquerable. He fucks into the slick, welcoming hole, half-delirious with arousal.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Genn murmurs. “You like my cunt?”

Alvë moans, sucking lewdly at Genn’s nipple like it’s the head of a cock, closing his lips around it and swirling it with his tongue. He wraps an arm around Genn’s back, feeling the sweat that coats his ribs. The other orcs are talking about him again but he’s not listening. Doesn’t care that he’s putting on a show. He’s too occupied to look but imagines for a moment what might be happening behind him: hands inside trousers or jerking cocks in the open air, watching him, flushed and panting, hammering into Genn’s tireless hole.

Then the thought occurs to him, if he’s putting on a show, maybe he should try to put on a _show._ He straightens and brings his pace under control, settling for shallow, gentle thrusts. Needs some semblance of control if he’s to even get the words out, and he grasps Genn’s hairy chest. “Shame you only show this off when somebody kills a monster,” he says breathlessly. “I bet you’d attract even more customers if you wore something a little more _flattering.”_

Genn grins, leaving Alvë’s ass alone for a minute to grab the other half of his chest. “I’m in the back frying up meat half the day. Don't much like getting sprayed with boiling oil. So I guess you lot will just have to keep on claiming bounties if you want to see what’s under my apron.”

Alvë squeezes Genn’s chest generously, capturing the thick nipple between his fingers, tugging at it with a bit more force than is normally polite. But Genn is an orc. “You don’t think you’d have a better chance getting people to clean up your creature problems if you advertised your wares? I hear that manticore was posted quite a while.”

“Nice try, but I’m not in the business of free samples, _elf.”_ Genn lets out a noise of satisfaction as he braces himself on the table and arches his back into the tension on his nipple. Alvë pulls just a bit harder, until Genn groans, thrusting his chest out. It’s a wanton display, showing off his powerful muscles beneath the forest of hair, beholden to Alvë’s demanding fingers. His teeth are bared, tusks poking out from his lips. 

Alvë chuckles. “Well. Seems even orcs are sensitive somewhere.”

Genn cocks an eyebrow. “Easy for you to say. Your nipples are so damn small I can’t even grab them.”

But before Alvë can say anything he leans in, his broad, flat tongue pressing to Alvë’s chest. His tongue is a bit rough and Alvë lets out a shuddered whine as it runs across his nipple. Genn’s blunt tusks press into him almost enough to feel threatening. 

“H-here,” Alvë manages, with a smile. “I can help.”

He takes his other nipple and pinches it lightly, biting his lip. This isn’t the direction he’d meant to take things in, but here they are, and he squeezes Genn’s chest and rolls his own nipple at the same time, caught up in it all. There are shouts of enthusiasm from their audience, so he must be doing something right.

Genn nods in approval. “Good. You take care of that.” He reaches around. “And I’ll take care of your ass.”

Then he slides inside Alvë’s trousers again and grabs, and Alvë’s breath catches in his throat, his fingers tightening on Genn’s plush chest. It’s all a lot to handle, and his hips start moving faster of their own accord, plunging into the loose grip of Genn’s cunt. The luxuriant, velvety walls pillow his cock as he ruts mindlessly into them.

Genn is ruthless, his palm calloused as it rubs over Alvë’s ass, reminding Alvë yet again that Genn is bigger and much stronger and could probably sling him over one shoulder like a sack of tubers to be carried away to who knows where. Alvë, unbidden, imagines being tied down in the storage shed out back with Genn showing now and then during the day when he wanted to satisfy his cunt on Alvë’s cock. In the fantasy Genn comes with a growl, spraying hot, clear fluid all over Alvë’s chest and stomach, and then rises and goes back to work, leaving Alvë bound with his cock leaking in the open air.

Alvë curses quietly in Elvish which may be a mistake. Genn gives him a knowing look. “Like having a partner who handles you right, don’t you?” he says, and lets go of his own chest to spank Alvë sharply, just once. 

Alvë cries out, yanking on his nipple, jamming his cock as deep as it’ll go inside Genn’s hole. A roar of glee from the tavern, and Alvë hits a rhythm that he fears will end with him spilling his seed sooner rather than later. Another spank—not very hard, and cushioned by his trousers, but it still stings, and the _crack_ that carries through the tavern makes him warm with delightful humiliation. 

“Come on, elf,” Genn growls. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Alvë buries his face in Genn’s muscular chest, fucking into him with abandon. Genn’s cunt is almost unbearably hot, Alvë’s passage lubricated by the constant leaking of slick fluid that coats both their thighs. Pleasure grips his cock, stoked by the firm hands still mauling his ass. 

Then Genn’s finger finds his taint again and _presses_ and that’s all it takes. Alvë lets out a long, broken moan into Genn’s beefy chest, and his balls tighten, hips pumping entirely of their own accord. Seed pulses from his cock, spent safely in the depths of Genn’s yielding hole. 

The orgasm whites out his sense for a long moment. All he knows is the electric pleasure extracting jets of seed from his cock, the dull impacts of his hips slapping into Genn’s. Everything is soft, Genn’s hole, his thighs dimpled under Alvë’s fingers, the fat lips of his cunt squashed against Alvë’s groin. 

Genn massages his ass nice and slow now, milking the arousal and making Alvë bite his lip as a final spurt of seed is coaxed from his balls. At last he forces himself to withdraw and steps back, his spent cock slipping limply from its warm sheath. Genn’s hands release him at last and slide out of his trousers. 

There are wolf-whistles and roars of approval from the tavern. Alvë wipes sweat from his brow and tries to stuff himself back into his trousers in a nonchalant fashion, though he can’t imagine it works. The group of orcs who lost their table to Genn’s hairy ass raise their mugs collectively to him. Genn, meanwhile, rests his feet on the floor and stretches. “Seems you enjoyed yourself.”

Alvë looks up, a bit out of breath. Genn seems about to rise, but— “You didn’t come,” he blurts out.

The tavern quiets. Genn lifts an eyebrow. “You think one manticore earns you the right to give me an orgasm?”

Indignation pierces the pleasurable fog clouding Alvë’s head. _“One_ manticore?” he asks, incredulous. “When was the last time you had someone kill a manticore with no help whatsoever?” He steps forward, emboldened by the fact that he’s already just fucked someone in front of dozens of people. So what more has he to lose?

Genn snorts. “You’re pushy for an elf. So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? You that desperate to make me come?” He grins. “You better not try and eat my cunt, I’m afraid you’ll suffocate.” 

He spreads his puffy, leaking cunt for good measure and there’s a burst of laughter from the tavern. Alvë’s pride stings at the jibes—he killed a manticore by himself. _By himself._ Who among them could do that? And it’s not his fault he’s the smallest one in the room. Without thinking he drops to his knees, yanks Genn’s hand out of the way, and takes that fat, red-pink cock into his mouth. 

Genn grunts but does not shove Alvë away; his thighs tense and then relax, and he shifts his weight back onto the table again, letting Alvë work. His cock is swollen with arousal and nearly fills Alvë’s mouth—the nub is fleshy, compressible when Alvë closes his lips. The hood is leathery in texture and he leaves it in place for now. Instead he nurses Genn’s cock gently and reaches up to where he’d normally grasp his partner’s balls. But—

“Look at you. Just couldn’t wait to suck my cock,” Genn goads above him. “You know, I’m not used to having an elf service me. I’ll have to be careful. Don’t want to crush you between my thighs by accident.”

—instead there’s the rubbery lips of Genn’s cunt, and Alvë slides between them, marveling at how _thick_ they are and how slick with the fluid that leaks readily from his entrance. Alvë’s seed is _not_ leaking out, held captive somewhere inside the hungry depths. Alvë searches blindly for give, his fingers slipping through the fleshy folds until they practically fall into Genn’s hole. 

Alvë is in to the base of his knuckles instantly and curls his fingers but still finds himself unable to product any stretch. Genn’s cuntwalls stretch easily around him, and he repositions himself, rising up on his knees, sucking Genn’s cock more firmly into his mouth. But even this new angle doesn’t help; he’s lost in Genn’s cunt, his fingers hopelessly inadequate. Genn barks out a laugh. “You think some _diddling_ will satisfy me? At least your cock had some reach!”

Alvë’s brow creases in indignance and he redoubles his efforts on Genn’s cock, dragging his tongue over its fat tip, tracing the edge of the leathery hood; . He tries another finger and finds it swallowed up just as quickly. At least he seems to be filling Genn’s entrance now, but the capacious hole accommodates the new intrusion with only a hint of strain. Genn grunts above him. “You’re a good cocksucker. I can give you that, if nothing else,” he says, as Alvë is struck by an idea. “Makes you useful for someth— _OH, FUCK!”_

It wasn’t terribly hard— Alvë just tucked his thumb in and pushed and Genn’s cunt sucked him right in. _Now_ there’s some real pressure, and he balls his hand into a fist, Genn’s walls straining around his knuckles. He may be an elf, but his hands are by no means petite—just the opposite, in fact. Genn groans above him. “You—you shoved your fucking _fist_ in me!”

Alvë releases Genn’s cock from his lips and looks up with an arch smile. “Well, you wanted something with _reach,”_ he says, and advances, muscling through the clenching of Genn’s walls. The slick hole keeps taking him, swallowing his wrist, until finally he meets the back of it and comes to rest with the swollen lips hugging his forearm. Alvë stays where he is, savoring the feeling of Genn’s overwhelmed cuntflesh wrapped tight around him. 

Genn’s eyes are shut and his teeth gritted, blunted tusks jutting out. He’s up on his toes with legs splayed, still braced against the table. His cunt squeezes Alvë’s arm, rippling from his forearm all the way up to his balled fist. But he cracks an eye and looks up, because he could not fail to notice it—the way the tavern as one vaulted to its feet when Alvë’s fist popped inside him, the ungainly shout he let out. Alvë glances over his shoulder and finds a dozen orcs crowded in behind him, the musky scent of their arousal filling the air. He grins, pleased with himself. When was the last time someone made Genn yelp like that? There’s an excited babble, some of which he catches. _“He sucked up half that elf’s arm!” “Look at his cock sticking out—maybe all he needed this whole time was having a fist shoved up his cunt!” “Wonder if mine would fit in there?”_

“I’m disappointed, elf.”

Alvë blinks and looks up.

Genn seems to have recovered somewhat, and he glares down at Alvë with narrowed eyes. “You got off to a pretty good start, I’ll give you that. But now you’re just sitting there, _basking.”_ His lip curls. “Like you already did your job. Meanwhile, I’m standing here like an asshole with a fist up my cunt, waiting for you to _do_ something. And since you’re not, it looks like I’ll have to do the work all by my damn self.”

Then his knees bend and his body shifts as he lowers himself down. It takes Alvë a half-second to realize what’s going on and he braces himself to keep his arm straight, giving Genn something to descend upon. In fact, Genn’s efforts get him down a little further, his rubbery cunt-lips swallowing another inch of Alvë’s forearm. 

“You better be ready,” Genn growls. “I won’t have you getting tired when I’m not finished yet.”

Alvë wants to respond but the words catch in his throat. How much stamina does Genn have, exactly? Can he be _sure_ he won’t tire first?

Genn rises, his hole clinging to Alvë’s forearm and dragging over his skin until he halts, the entrance hugging Alvë's wrist. There’s a moment where Genn pauses, and Alvë might be imagining it but thinks his legs tremble just a little at the fist sitting just inside him. Then Genn plows himself down, forcing his cunt open on Alvë’s arm all at once. Alvë grits his teeth, holding firm. He managed to gain control just for a minute there when he took Genn by surprise; but Genn is wresting it back, his cunt mastering Alvë’s arm as it devours him again. 

And Alvë doesn’t know if he’ll have another shot. Genn is _strong,_ his massive body pumping up and down in an unforgiving rhythm. His muscular cunt squeezes Alvë’s fist and arm from all sides, forcing Alvë to reach up and grab the table edge to keep steady. His powerful thighs flex each time he impales himself, and sweat shines on his gray-green skin, trickling through the forest of damp stomach hair to collect in shining droplets at his navel. 

The whole thing is rather…distracting, and heat starts to gather again at Alvë’s groin, though his spent cock remains soft inside his unlaced trousers. It was worth it, he thinks to himself half-deliriously. Almost being beheaded by a manticore and then losing out on a three-hundred-gold reward. It was worth it to have Genn’s massive cunt taking almost his entire forearm every single time his powerful body plummets down again. 

Genn grunts above him. “Thought you’d pulled one over on me, huh, elf?” he says. “Thought you had me on my back foot. Well, _what do you think now?”_

His pace, impossibly, picks up, and the force of the fucking, too—he crouches low, dragging Alvë’s arm down at the shoulder, only to pull it back up on the ascent as his inner walls cling to Alvë’s skin. He growls, spreading his legs wide, settling into a punishing rhythm of squats that Alvë can hardly believe. How does he take an _arm_ at this pace? And how does he not tire? Even Alvë is feeling the effort simply of keeping his arm straight every time Genn impales himself again. The excited chatter behind him picks up again. _“He’s gonna break that poor boy.” “Nonsense! The elf killed a manticore!” “Yeah, well. Manticore’s got nothing on that cunt.”_

“What’s wrong, elf? Not getting tired, are you?”

Alvë looks up sharply, meeting Genn’s golden eyes. The orc is still fucking himself at an uncompromising rhythm, but he holds Alvë’s gaze with a smirk. “Weren’t you going to make me come? You haven’t even been doing any of the work. Been making me do it all by my damn self. Well, that’s about to change.”

Then he rises deliberately. Alvë watches the muscles in his stomach tense, entranced. Too entranced—his arm begins to slip from Genn’s cunt, which is quickly corrected as Genn leans down, grabs him by the elbow and shoves it all the way back inside. “Quit slacking off!” he barks. 

Alvë scrambles to reply. “No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t—“

“We’re not done yet!” Genn snaps. “You thought shoving your fist in me would be the end of it?”

There’s a second’s pause and then Alvë yelps in surprise. Genn’s cunt-muscles are squeezing his arm— _squeezing_ like a steel vise, so hard he fears his bones might crack. He tries to pull out but the pressure is too great and holds him hostage, stuck deep inside Genn’s hole. He looks up to beg for forgiveness and finds Genn gazing down at him with a smirk, arms folded. “I’m sorry!” Alvë cries out. “I’m sorry! I’ll make you come!”

“Oh, I know,” Genn tells him. “You’re not walking out that door until I’ve gotten my orgasm.”

Alvë opens his mouth to say something but is saved from scavenging a reply out of his fogged-up brain by Genn’s huge hand grabbing the back of his skull. He has a split-second to realize what’s happening before his face is mashed to Genn’s groin and his mouth is filled once again with turgid cockflesh. 

“Suck it, elf,” Genn commands. “And you better keep pumping that fist!”

Alvë gets to work.

He lavishes Genn’s cock like he was born to serve it, fellating it with his lips, nursing at the underside with his tongue. And he pumps, his arm no longer held captive, now free to delve deep into Genn’s capacious cunt. The orc is… _soft_ inside, now that he’s relaxed some, and his walls are velvet-smooth with lubrication. Alvë’s fist practically glides through him, although the wide ball of his knuckles still meets resistance from the taxed hole and he must work to push deep within and to withdraw after.

“Yeah,” Genn growls. “Get in there.”

Alvë forgoes an acknowledgement in favor of pleasuring the cock that’s the center of his world right now. The hood is leathery and rough, and he runs his tongue over it, savoring the texture. An appreciative grunt rumbles out from above him. Good. He’s doing good. Alvë pauses for breath and sucks in a lungful of air with his noise still buried in Genn’s thick forest of pubic hair. The musky scent of orcish arousal hits him immediately, and he moans, spreading his legs and rolling his hips despite himself. 

A chuckle. “This turn you on? Kneeling at my feet with my cock in your mouth?”

Fuck. Alvë moans again and grabs Genn’s thigh, his fingers dimpling the sweaty gray-green skin. He sucks the fat, swollen nub with his lips closed around the base, forming a tight seal. 

_“That’s_ it!” Genn’s hand had been simply resting on the back of his head but pulls him in now, squashing Alvë’s face against his hairy cunt. “Now move that fucking fist! I want to feel it!”

Alvë finds his job has just become less complicated—he needs no more fancy tricks anymore as Genn is thrusting against his face, dragging his cock over Alvë’s tongue. He uses Alvë’s mouth as little more than a soft, wet hole, and Alvë relaxes into the face-fuck, keeping his tongue flat and his lips closed over Genn’s meaty cock. The other half of the equation, however, requires his attention. Rising on his knees for better leverage, he pumps his fist inside of Genn’s hole, disbelieving still of how deep he is, how much of his arm has been consumed by Genn’s body. 

“Were you not listening, elf?” Genn demands. “I said _move_ that fist!”

Alvë glances up but can’t see much over the curve of Genn’s stomach. All right, he can do that. He drags his arm most of the way out, Genn’s hole releasing it with reluctance, until only his fist is left inside. Experimentally he pulls out just a little further—just until the widest part of his hand catches and starts to stretch Genn’s entrance. A guttural groan from above, and Alvë can only imagine it, how the dark pink flesh must be distended around his knuckles, bulging out from the forest of hair. But he can’t look because he has a job to do, so he pushes back in, muscling through the pressure of Genn’s powerful walls until he’s seated firmly inside once more. The motion makes Genn’s hips buck, his cock sliding over Alvë’s tongue. A good sign. Alvë does it again—in and out, decisive, forcing himself into Genn’s clenching hole with each thrust. He can feel how it makes Genn’s hips tilt as the cock in his mouth rolls between his lips. 

“You think that’s enough to get me off?!” Genn barks, and spreads his legs for balance. “You’re supposed to fuck me, elf! So FUCK me!”

More? Alvë can do that, although he doesn’t want to hurt the man. Still, he has been commanded, so he obliges. His free arm circles around Genn’s hip and grabs his ass—something to hold on to while he plunges into Genn’s cunt, upping his pace as fast as he dares. At first he still must push through the resistance, but it soon starts to weaken as his arm keeps pounding into Genn’s hole; the pressure relaxes, and his fist powers through the slack channel at a relentless clip. Bands of muscle that once gripped him tight are now loose and open, making way for the inexorable forearm spreading them apart.

Genn lets out a harsh shout, and his hips buck wildly against Alvë’s mouth. “HARDER, ELF! WORK THAT FUCKING CUNT!” he bellows. “YOU THINK I CAN’T TAKE IT?! _I’M AN ORC!”_

Alvë can do nothing but obey, punching his fist into Genn’s cunt recklessly. The once-tight hole now opens up around him, coating his arm with slick lubricant as he plunges into it with the same force he uses to hurl fireballs at deadly beasts. He can’t even look up to see how he’s doing, so tightly is his face pressed to Genn’s groin. Alvë inhales the sharp, musky smell of sweat and sucks, pumping into Genn’s cunt with all the strength he’s got left. 

Genn roars and a hard jet of salty fluid sprays onto Alvë’s chin and chest. Genn’s engorged cock pulses and his cunt tightens up like an iron manacle. Alvë couldn’t fuck him any more if he tried, so he stays where he is with his fist nestled up against the back of Genn’s hole. His mouth still works, his lips sliding over the slippery surface of Genn’s cock.

A deep, protracted groan rumbles out of Genn as his hips thrust erratically. After a few long seconds his cunt relaxes and allows Alvë’s arm to begin slipping out—only to tighten and capture it once again. Alvë stays where he is obediently, letting Genn fuck against his tongue and ride out the orgasm. Genn’s muscular walls clench and unclench, rippling up the length of Alvë’s arm as if milking it. 

But at last the contractions fall off and his arm is released from its confines, and he tugs it out with care, though Genn’s entrance is so slack by now his fist pops out with hardly any effort. The pressure disappears from his head and he settles back on his feet, looking up. 

The tavern is cheering. He isn’t sure when they started, but there are whoops and whistles and feet stomping the ground. Genn waves an annoyed hand at them and grunts, his fingers dipping idly between his legs to play with his cunt. Shining strings of viscous fluid hang from the massive, glistening hole. “Hm.” He catches his cock between two fingers. “Not bad, I suppose.”

Alvë rises to his feet. His knees are sore from the wooden floor. “At this point, I’ll take it,” he replies breathlessly.

“Good, ‘cause you’re not getting any more.” Genn leans down and gathers up his clothes— Alvë’s too, and tosses them to him. “Shouldn’t have let you do that. Now every runt who walks in here with a bounty to claim is gonna want to shove their fist in me.”

Alvë pulls his shirt on and is pretty sure it’s backwards but no longer cares. “But you had a good time. Didn’t you?”

“Hm.” Genn hikes his trousers up over his ass. “Better than tending bar for twenty minutes for these greedy fuckers.”

Alvë gives him a nonchalant shrug. “Well, if you ever need a break. I’ll be in town for a bit.”

Genn guffaws and nods behind him. “Don’t think you need to come looking for me if you want a distraction.”

The woman orc from earlier has sidled closer, and she bats her eyes at him. Alvë is trying to figure out how to tell her that he’ll need about a week to recover from this when a tankard hits him in the chest, ale slopping over the edge onto his shirt. 

Genn is holding it out and lets it go when Alvë grasps the handle. “But you _are_ welcome back here for another fuck whenever you like.”

Alvë grins. He can hardly believe his good luck. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’m all yours.” Genn nods at the manticore stinger still dripping venom onto the bar. “Just make sure you bring another one of those with you next time.”

It was too much to hope for. Alvë climbs onto one of the stools, needing a moment to gather his thoughts. Genn returns to his place behind the bar and gets back to work; but when he passes by, Alvë thinks he catches a wink from one golden eye. 


End file.
